Outrageous Amounts Of Running
by inkvoices
Summary: A moment in Alba DeTamble's rather unusual relationship.


**Author Note: **Originally written for a prompt on comment_fic at livejournal.

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><p><span>Outrageous Amounts Of Running<span>

This time Alba arrives in a bus shelter, a three-sided affair with clear plastic walls. Public places are awkward when she's always naked on arrival (however hard she works on trying to bring clothes with her), but thankfully there appear to be no witnesses.

She takes stock of her surroundings: dark, with no lights from buildings or vehicles, on some country road in the middle of nowhere. Rain hammers down from above, hitting the roof of the shelter and streaming down the walls. It puddles on the concrete beneath her bare feet and Alba flexes her cold toes as she thinks through her options for finding clothes and warmth, making ripples.

There's a fizzling noise, like soft static, and the smell of warm electricity as another person arrives in the same shelter.

The newcomer taps her wrist strap twice and beams at Alba in delight, before slipping a rucksack off her shoulders and dumping it on the ground between their feet, heedless of the rainwater that splashes up Alba's legs.

"Right," she says, yanking the drawstring open at the top of the bag, "I've got underwear, jeans, that pink t-shirt you liked so much last time, a jumper, socks, good running boots, a brush…a towel even!"

Alba accepts the stripped towel, opening it wide and raising an eyebrow at the 'I LOVE BLACKPOOL' printed on it in huge letters before slinging it around her shoulders and starting to dry off.

"Didn't bring a coat though, for you _or_me, sorry about that." She sticks a hand out from under the shelter, then draws it back inside and licks her palm. "The weather was much better here the first time."

"Was it?" asks Alba, drying her knees and trying to work out if anything about being here is familiar.

"Oh yes. We had a picnic."

"I've never had a picnic with you," says Alba, dropping the towel in favour of rummaging through the rucksack and pulling on clothes. Underwear first, then the jeans, socks, and boots.

"Ah, first time here for you then." She crouches, bringing her head down to peer into Alba's face as Alba ties her bootlaces, and the tip of her long, blond ponytail dips into a puddle. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-two," says Alba.

She allows a small smile to play across her lips that blossoms into a proper one when the woman mirrors her as she stands.

"Just checking," the woman says. "You know I wouldn't want to start anything before we actually started anything. Wouldn't want to mess with time and all that."

Alba moves away until her back is pressed against the wall of the shelter, cool on her bare-skin. Again the other follows, looming over her a little, fingers reaching out to touch Alba's bra strap, her cheek, her curls.

"_Jenny_", says Alba, letting her head fall back. "Start something."

The taller woman dips her head enough for their lips to brush, teasing, traces Alba's bottom lip with tongue. Alba wants her to hurry it up, a fleeting fear always at the back of her mind that time is running out, but this is Jenny who can follow her and find her whenever she is. There's no need to rush.

She brings her hands to rest on Jenny's hips and they explore each other's mouths lazily, the passage of time marked only by the rain dampening the back of Alba's jeans where the bus shelter wall doesn't quite meet the floor.

"You're cold," says Jenny eventually, murmuring the words against Alba's collarbone in-between kisses.

"Mmmm."

The soft sound is echoed by a much louder one, which sounds like a cross between the revving engine of a motorbike and an annoyed bear, both of which are some of the many sounds that Alba has become familiar with since she first met Jenny.

"Did anything significant happen," she asks carefully, "other than a picnic the first time we – for you – were here?"

Jenny sighs, places one last kiss in the hollow of Alba's throat, and then steps away, tossing the remaining clothes that she'd brought at her.

"We may have annoyed something," she says, fastening the rucksack and putting it back on.

Alba tugs the t-shirt and jumper over her head and runs her hands through her curls as she glares at the other woman.

"Alright, alright, by which I mean _I_may have annoyed something."

"Something alien?"

"Maybe." Jenny holds out a hand and Alba laces their fingers together, getting a good grip. "Ready to run?"


End file.
